


{ warm me up }

by WrinkledParchment



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:49:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrinkledParchment/pseuds/WrinkledParchment
Summary: You’ve been getting up in the middle of the night to feel the cold, but you make Connor warm up inside.





	{ warm me up }

Your fingers felt numb, your lips tingled and you could feel the coldness of your face against the warmth of your pillow. Still not able to sleep, you gave in and stepped out of bed. The friction between your clothes and the sheets made a noise, which on any other night, you would’ve cringed at; This night was different. You didn’t have the normal compulsion to scrunch your noise, nor the need to curl up and cry like most days. Tonight, you didn’t particularly feel anything at all.

The floorboards creaked underneath your feet, the hardwood still frigid – presumably the open window was the culprit, but you didn’t care to shut it. You looked back at the being that had been next to you. Currently in stasis mode, he had synced his rest with your heartbeat.

Your heartbeat hadn’t slowed down and you hadn’t fallen asleep. You’d tried to count sheep; you’d listened to his thirium pump. Nothing worked, and if he didn’t look so peaceful, you would’ve woken him. His face looked so soft, so relaxed and calm; why would you want to ruin that?

The bedroom door was already open, so you slipped by and entered your kitchen, which had the door to your porch. Very few stars shone tonight; Detroit’s light pollution acted as a blackout curtain, only allowing light from the city to illuminate the 3 a.m. horizon.

Your palms pressed against the door, examining the contrast between the city, the pitch black night, and the full moon. The glass was gelid, and it pricked against your skin. You didn’t mind. Sometimes cold was refreshing, awakening. You wanted – no, needed to be awakened.

Feet sore, you flexed the soles and blew out a breath, willing the tiredness to be washed away with it. The warmth of your exhale clouded a section of the glass door before withering away – dying, leaving only small traces of condensation. Sighing, you thought about how you related to the breath. It was there, in the grand scheme of things, for a short period of time, and left little to no trace.

You flexed your fingers, searching for more of the frigid temperature, attempting to find some peace amongst the pain. Letting your forehead fall against the glass, it seared in pain from both the freezing element and the sudden bluntness of the door.

You ignored it. You felt like a dead man walking; no emotion, no reaction to what should hurt, only void of what matters – or mattered – to you most.

If you were the impermanent breath against the cold of the night, Connor embodied the arctic temperatures. He most definitely could bite, but you found comfort in his strength, in the all-consuming, somewhat destructive nature of him. As bitter, as algid as he was – he was soothing, tranquil, somehow both the calm of the storm and the storm itself.

The footsteps behind you were silent, but you sensed them. You didn’t bother to turn around; you didn’t bother to explain yourself because this had happened too many times. Connor would find that you’d gotten out of bed gone to the kitchen to stare at the nonexistent stars, he would hug you from behind, bring you back to the bedroom, and cuddle you until you pretended to fall asleep again.

“When was the last time you slept, Alexandra?” his voice echoed throughout the devastatingly empty house. It was gentle, but you still didn’t turn around or speak. You didn’t need to speak for him to know it’d been a long time.

“An entire week?” he exclaimed, and you slowly nodded with your forehead still pressed to the glass. He sighed and you mirrored him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist. You allowed yourself to lean against his back, forehead separating from the glass, though your palms were still splayed against it.

“Darling, you need sleep,” he whispered against your ear.

“I know,” you groaned, listening to his soft chuckle. It was almost frightening how warm he was. The exact opposite of what he truly was.

He should be wintry, frosty, a low temperature. That was the energy he exuded. But when he was with you, he was warm, homey, inviting. He felt like a warm blanket, a fresh cup of hot chocolate. He was cozy.

“You’re very cold, Alexandra,” he added, burying his head into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against your delicate skin with his next words, “How can I warm you up?”

“Just hold me,” you answered, and he nodded. Your hands slowly lowered from the glass, and you turned around in Connor’s arms. Your chest pressed against his and your arctic hands wrapped around his neck, and he practically shivered.

“Darling, why were you pressing your hands against the glass?” he asked carefully. You could feel the vibrations flow through your artery, and you physically weakened.

“It reminds me of you,” you replied. Connor began to brush through your hair before leaning his head to kiss your crown.

“You said I was hot this morning,” he joked, and you giggled a bit. He could feel you exhale against the crook of his neck, and he leaned down towards your ear, “What can I say? You warm me up.”


End file.
